


Collateral Damage

by E4t_The_Rude



Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Car Accidents, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Press and Tabloids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E4t_The_Rude/pseuds/E4t_The_Rude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The interior was ruined, but there was no mistaking it. He was in Akihiko’s fancy, foreign sports car.<br/>The abomination with wheels, as Hiroki liked to call it.</p><p>Someone was going to have the unpleasant job of prying his corpse from the wreckage.<br/>He almost felt sorry for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Authors note: Recently I found a big stack of notebooks in my room, full of unposted stories. This is one of them. I thought it would be a shame for it to be wasted, so I decided to finish what I started…. Five years ago…. O.O
> 
> Note: Minor bad language. Hiroki needs to put some money in my swear jar ;)

As the fog in his head began to disperse, the young professor attempted to pry open his brown eyes, wincing in pain as his head began to protest angrily.

The incessant pounding in his skull confirmed that he was indeed awake, slowly slipping from the clutches of slumber and back into what seemed to be a hazy reality.

As the numbness gradually faded from his aching limbs, Hiroki didn't have to open his eyes to realise that this was more than just a measly headache.

There was something warm dripping from his forehead.

A wet trail was creeping across his skin, cascading from his brow and riveting over his cheek.

There was no denying the dull, coppery taste in his mouth.

It was blood, his blood.

With a probing tongue, Hiroki was relieved to find that he still had all his teeth, although by the feel of things he was sporting an impressive busted lip

The brunette knew that somewhere, deep down, he should have perhaps been slightly more concerned by the fact that he was bleeding from somewhere. Instead, he simply didn't possess the energy to panic.

For a short while he was accompanied only by silence, until eventually an unnerving groan emitted from somewhere close beside him.

"Hiroki?"

He recognised that voice.

He'd recognise it from anywhere. That teasing, husky tone that drifted through his ear drums like silk. The brunettes face immediately twisted into a frown as the confusion finally started to sink in.

What was he doing here?

Hell, where was here?

He attempted to ignore the pounding in his skull, trying to think, remember anything, something-

He couldn't concentrate over the sound of the blood ringing in his ears.

Kamijou attempted to pry open his heavy eye lids, his body gravitating towards the direction he'd heard the sound.

He was unprepared for the immense stab of pain that flared in his abdomen, knocking the wind from him like a tonne of bricks. He froze immediately, gritting his teeth with a pained hiss as a wave of nausea swept over him.

"Hiroki?"

"A-Akihiko?"

"Thank god," the author exclaimed with a sigh of relief.

Akihiko attempted to offer some form of comfort, extending his aching arm as far as he could. He managed to brush his cold fingertips gingerly against the brunettes shoulder.

It wasn't uncommon for Hiroki to go out of his way to evade the novelists touch, however in his current state, the professor didn't seem to be even remotely fazed.

He could see the trace of crimson that splayed from the wound in Hiroki's forehead, watching as it trailed down his jaw and dripped steadily onto his white shirt.

The Usami's head was still spinning from the impact, having been slammed gracelessly against the hard headrest with a sickening smack.

Taking a deep breath, he began to flex his limbs cautiously, inspecting the damage one digit at a time.

Suppressing a hiss to avoid alarming his companion, he winced, peering down at his legs through a curtain of tousled grey hair.

Akihiko was no doctor, but he was sure that he could feel the fracture. There was just something about the feeling of something protruding from his skin that told him his limb was far from healthy.

It made his skin crawl.

He craned his neck, peering to the brunette beside him with a pair of violet eyes. The sight that greeted him was enough to make his toes curl.

"Try not to move," he advised calmly.

Hiroki moaned in confusion, slowly but surely opening his eyes.

The broken glass seemed to be everywhere. The passenger side window was gone, and all that remained were some jagged shards embedded around the window frame.

He could see it in his lap, dusting his shirt- he could even feel it in his hair.

The interior was ruined, but there was no mistaking it. He was in Akihiko's fancy, foreign sports car. The abomination with wheels, as Hiroki liked to call it.

The splintered windscreen was hanging on by a thread, and Hiroki couldn't help but notice that the gaping hole of glass that was missing was roughly the same size as his head.

Only then did the professor realise that the reason he couldn't move was because he was being pinned ruthlessly to his seat by what remained of the crushed red door.

"Oh shit," he declared bleakly, unable to supress the ever increasing panic that began to bloom within him.

"Oh my f-fucking god."

He had seen accidents on the news.

People died from things like this.

They died immediately from impact or painfully from their internal injuries.

There was nothing he could do to erase the dramatic scenarios in his head. He could already picture Akihiko's write-off car, flattened like a pancake and its interior splattered with blood, pooling on the seats and in the foot well like a scene from a bad horror film.

Someone was going to have the unpleasant job of prying his corpse from the wreckage.

He almost felt sorry for them.

What would his parents say? What would Nowaki-

Nowaki.

"Hiroki!"

Kamijou knew that in situations like this, it was reminding himself what he had to live for that was supposed to keep him grounded. He pictured Nowaki and his infamous heart-warming smile, but it did little to soothe him.

"Hiroki, you need to calm down-"

"I c-can't breathe," the brunette wheezed, in the clutches of what could only be a panic attack.

"Oh g-god… W-what are we g-going to-"

"Hiroki, you need to calm down," the Usami said firmly, regretting his stern choice of tone almost immediately.

The novelist grasped him firmly by the arm and gave the shaking limb a reassuring squeeze, ignoring the flare of pain radiating from his own shoulder.

It wasn't often that one witnessed Kamijou completely loose his composure.

In all the years of their friendship so far, or at least what remained of it, Usami Akihiko could only recall one other occasion in which he'd witnessed Hiroki's barriers completely crumble.

The day of his confession.

The day that Akihiko had broken Kamijou's heart.

Hiroki couldn't ignore the cold hand on his shoulder. There had once been a time when he would have longed to be touched by those same cold hands. It was almost funny; now the authors touch wasn't as electrifying as it had once felt upon his skin.

The spark was missing.

"Please don't t-touch me Akihiko."

Akihiko recoiled quickly, as if he'd been burned.

After all these years he'd been naive in thinking that he could repair the rift between them by simply pretending that nothing had happened. Since that fateful day things between them had never been the same again. Hiroki avoided him whenever possible, ignoring his calls, texts, and even trying to slip away undetected when he spotted the author in public.

"What…. What happened?" Hiroki asked, a suspicious sounding cough emerging from his lips.

"You don't remember?" Akihiko replied, resisting the urge to light a cigarette to calm his fraying nerves. "You must have hit your head pretty hard. What's the last thing you remember?"

Hiroki had been strolling along the pavement with his briefcase in one hand, raking his fingers through his tousled hair with the other as he'd begun the short journey to work.

He remembered vaguely seeing a familiar red sports car in the distance and as always his first instinct had been to attempt to avoid it.

Unfortunately, like many occasions, the bastard had pulled over and had begun harassing him.

"I was walking to work... You... you t-told me to get in the f-fucking c-car, and I d-did, because, you wouldn't leave me alone."

"I didn't force you," the novelist intervened with a frown. "I offered you a lift, and you accepted- eventually."

"People were staring," Hiroki reminded him, trying to savour the fragments of hazy memories that were jumbled in his head like puzzle pieces. "I don't remember a-anything a-after that," he confessed, gazing fixatedly at the twisted metal that had once been the bonnet of the novelists sports car.

"Someone hit us."

When Akihiko had spotted the speeding vehicle, it had simply been too late. Attempting to swerve from its path, the reckless driver collided with the red sports car with a deafening screech of brakes. It had happened so quickly that he'd hardly had time to think.

Akihiko stiffened as a familiar aroma lingered unpleasantly in his nostrils.

Engine oil.

Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to Misaki.

He wondered what the brunette would say in this kind of situation. He could already picture him waving his arms around angrily, voice lanced with both concern and irritation.

'Idiot! How many times have I told you to keep your eyes on the road! You got a death wish or something?!'

"Nowaki's going to k-kill you," Hiroki said with great certainty, unable to supress the small smile of amusement tugging at his lips.

It was no secret that the tall paediatrician disliked Akihiko; the word dislike itself was one hell of an understatement. Every time that Nowaki set eyes on the author, his blood began to boil.

It was almost endearing how the mere mention of the author could spark the jealousy in Nowaki- not that Hiroki would ever admit it of course. He often pretended to be irritated by his lover's antics, despite the fact that he was certain that Kusama was able to see straight through him.

Whenever Hiroki muttered, "Get off me idiot," it would only encourage Nowaki to cling tighter, swooning, "I love you too Hiro-san!"

"It wasn't my fault," Akihiko protested, acknowledging the small crowd that had gathered at the roadside.

He could hear raised voices, someone warning them to wait for the emergency services.

He wondered if it had anything to do with the oil dripping from his car.

"S-Sounds like an e-excuse for your sh-shitty driving," Hiroki stuttered weakly, grimacing at the gurgling emitting from his chest.

"I find it difficult to believe that Kusama is the violent type, for a man that works with children."

"H-He punched M-Miyagi once," Hiroki confessed, frowning at the memory. "I've n-never seen him s-so angry before-"

He winced as another wet cough emerged from his lips, his lungs burning in protest as his chest heaved with each rattle.

A surge of panic consumed him when he recognised the coppery taste emerging from his lips…

'I'm going to die here,' he realised dismally. 'I'm going to die in this bastard's shitty car...'

His heart wrenched.

Nowaki would be left entirely alone.

With no family, Hiroki was all that he had.

"Akihiko," he said, blinking the tears from his eyes. "I need you to p-promise me something…"

"Don't-"

"Promise me."

"I promise Hiroki," he said, ignoring the lump in his throat.

'Don't say my name in that tone, idiot.'

He'd never been good with words. They always managed to tangle themselves before they could roll off of the tip of his tongue.

"I-If something happens to me," he began, no longer able to restrain the tears that trailed across his cheeks, "tell Nowaki I…"

Despite the circumstances, he felt embarrassed beyond comprehension. If he lived to see another day, he was sure he'd never be able to look Akihiko in the eye ever again.

"It won't come to that," Akihiko said, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath to calm his fraying nerves. "You can tell him yourself when we get out of this mess."

"A-Always the op-optimistic one a-aren't you?" the brunette replied, gritting his teeth as he tried to restrain a sob. "We g-get hit by a f-fucking car, and you s-still don't batter a f-fucking eyelid-"

"Hiroki-"

"Your optimism p-pisses me off," the brunette muttered with a pained hiss. "Y-you don't know that we're not leaving t-this thing in a b-body bag!"

The professor's words were followed by an uncomfortable pause, before Akihiko finally muttered, "You're right Hiroki. I don't…."

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Kusama Nowaki began to stir with a sluggish groan, a hand protruding from the warm covers in a blind attempt to seize the shrieking telephone.

Its stubborn ringing sounded throughout the quiet apartment, and Nowaki could have sworn his ear drums were starting to ache.

Fumbling a hand over the bedside table, he retrieved the irritating device, tiredly prying his lanky frame into a seated position as he proceeded to lean against the headboard, impressively long legs stretched out in front of him.

Raking a hand through his tousled black hair, he held the phone to his ear and answered with a forced, yet pleasant tone.

"Hello?"

"Ah, good morning Kusama," the caller greeted rather stiffly.

Nowaki stilled in recognition at the familiar voice in his ear.

"Professor… Did Hiro-san forget something?"

"No…"

There was a short pause, and the paediatrician could almost picture Miyagi frown in confusion.

"Could you hand him over? He missed his class this morning. He's not sick is he?"

Nowaki frowned, glancing at the empty space beside him on the large mattress.

On the bedside table Hiroki's watch, reading glasses, keys, and wallet were all missing. He never left the apartment without them, which confirmed that he had already left for work…

Vaguely, Kusama remembered stirring early that morning as Hiroki gently trailed his fingers through his dark hair. He'd been awake long enough in his exhausted state to register the professor bidding him goodbye, followed by a gentle peck on the cheek before slipping quietly out of the apartment.

Well, perhaps that last part had been a dream.

It was always difficult to tell.

"He's not here," Nowaki replied with unease.

"Kamijou's never late," Miyagi said, in a tone that implied he wasn't entirely convinced.

Glancing at the alarm at his bedside, the paediatricians concern only amplified. "He's not here," Nowaki insisted. "He left at the same time as usual. He should be there by now…"

"I see."

There was an unnerving pause, before Nowaki finally managed, "Have you tried his cell?"

"Five times, and it went straight to voicemail. You know what? He'll probably turn up soon. I didn't mean to worry you-"

"It's not like Hiro-san to be late" Kusama said worriedly. "I'll try his cell again."

"I'm sure he's fine," Miyagi replied.

Nowaki's heart sank.

Miyagi didn't sound entirely convinced.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed the last chapter! : )  
> Hold on to your seats, it’s going to be a bumpy ride. But don’t worry! I promise it will all be ok in the end…

Miyagi stared vacantly at the telephone is his hand, pausing for what felt like a short eternity before placing the device back in its cradle.

The words had left a bad taste in his mouth, lingering in the empty office like a bad omen.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

It had only been five minutes since his last nicotine fix, yet the head of the literature department was unable to ignore the familiar weight of the cigarette packet in his pocket. After so many years of practicing the bad habit, smoking had become second nature to him, much to Shinobu’s disapproval.

Succumbing to temptation he lit up with a click, taking a long drag and exhaling deeply, the smoke drifting languidly from his parted lips as he surveyed the lighter that rested in the palm of his hand.

It was nothing special, made from standard cheap black plastic, probably from the local convenience store. It was always giving him trouble, refusing to light…. 

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to part with it.

It had sentimental value.

It had been attacked by the brat with stickers after a spontaneous visit to the photo booth. He can still remember the way the brunette had seized him firmly by the arm, clutching the limb hard enough to leave bruises as he dragged Miyagi behind the black curtain, forcing him to pose for a picture.

At first he’d refused to smile, insisting that he was a grown man and ‘far too old for this crap’.

Then the cheeky brat decided to kick him in the shin- hard.

The result was… admittedly not his best angle. He’d begged with Shinobu to get rid of the incriminating pictures, but unexpectedly, all his attempts had been futile. A week later the professor was walking across campus, delving a hand into his coat pocket in search of a light. It was then that he noticed the picture stamped across it.

As if Miyagi’s ridiculous expression hadn’t been enough, there was also the glittery border that accompanied it, curtesy of Shinobu. 

He just prayed that he didn’t ever drop it somewhere when he was walking across the campus.

Pocketing the lighter he eyed Hiroki’s empty desk, unable to ignore the pang of concern niggling at the pit of his stomach.

The Professor had arrived at Mitsuhashi University that morning in his usual fashion- on the verge of being inexcusably late.

As he’d approached the main office of the literature department, he was surprised to find that the door was still locked. Hiroki was always the first to arrive, organised and fully prepared for the classes of the day. In all of the time he’d been working at the university, not once had he ever been late. 

Hiroki’s passion for literature only encouraged his admirable punctuality.

Juggling a stack of hardback novels Miyagi had fumbled awkwardly for his key, eventually managing to let himself in successfully without dropping anything.

Half an hour later and with no sign of ‘Kamijou the demon’, he wondered if the man had finally caved and actually taken a sick day.

In the end, the professor assumed that his colleague was running a little late. He’d probably headed straight to his first lecture in a blind panic, with no time to stop by the office upon arrival.  
At first he’d thought nothing of it, distracted momentarily as he skimmed though a hoard of boring emails.

‘Delete.’

‘Delete.’

‘Meeting? Definitely delete.’

The ever increasing mountain of papers loomed gloomily on his desk, and for a moment the Professor contemplated the pile, gazing at his red grading pen…

It was just asking to be ignored.

Book in hand he headed to the library to take advantage of the photocopier. Despite having one in the office the professor was currently using it as a table; these days, the literature department’s budget was looking sorry for itself, so Miyagi often resorted to what he did best- taking advantage of the other departments resources.

On route to the library he passed the lecture hall, and on a whim he decided to pay Kamijou a visit, if only to satisfy his curiosity. 

He’d been expecting a flustered Hiroki ploughing his way through the lecture to make up for lost time, brown hair in complete disarray as he addressed his class in the usual rigorous fashion. Maybe if the man was having a particularly bad day his shirt might be crumpled too, black tie fastened sloppily around his neck as he threw a well-aimed text book at one of his day dreaming students…

Peering inquisitively through the glass with a pair of dark eyes, Miyagi was surprised to find that the hall was empty. He tried the door, face quickly falling to a concerned frown upon discovering that it was in fact still locked.

Now back in the office, Miyagi finally pried his gaze from the inanimate telephone, realising that staring at the device wasn’t going to make Kamijou call in any quicker.  
Usually the assistant professor would be scolding Miyagi for his laziness or ordering him to clear up the mess of abandoned books and scattered paperwork scattered around the vicinity.

'No wonder your wife divorced you! Look at the state of this office- I’m hardly surprised you can never find anything!'

There was a vacant space where Hiroki’s briefcase was usually propped against the filing cabinet, and the back of the back of the chair was empty where he usually draped his jacket…

His gaze lingered on the empty mug on the desk, which was usually filled with hot coffee at this time of morning. Miyagi always tried (and failed) to pinch the enticing beverage when Hiroki wasn’t looking.

'This is your last warning Professor! The next time you try to steal my coffee, I’m putting laxatives in the next one, and I’ll let you take it. Understand?!'

Surveying the quiet room dejectedly, the professor realised that Hiroki’s absence left an uncomfortable void in the office. 

He contemplated his enormous grading pile, gazing back at the pen that rested next to the impressive stack on his desk.

Perhaps it was time to finish his marking after all, if only to take his mind off things.

////////////////////////

Hiroki’s cell began to ring noisily from inside his black leather briefcase, which was currently lodged somewhere inaccessibly in the foot well.

It was the seventh call he’d missed that morning and had he been able to retrieve the device from his bag, he would have been able to quickly identify Nowaki’s caller ID.

It had been ten minutes since the emergency services had arrived at the scene; the crew were in the process of stabilising the vehicle in order to remove Hiroki and Akihiko safely.  
The impact had reduced the authors beautiful sleek car to a crumpled red wreckage that was fit for the scrap heap. By the time the emergency services had finished with it, it would look like a can that had been hacked open by a bad tin opener.

From what the author could see there didn’t appear to be much movement surrounding the other car. An unsettling feeling told him that the driver had probably died on impact. He couldn’t help but wonder if things could have been different. Maybe if he’d spotted the black Nissan sooner he could have swerved and avoided a head on collision.

If he looked closely enough with his violet eyes he was certain he could see a figure slouching lifelessly in the driver’s seat and hunched over the steering wheel…

Maybe that was just the concussion talking. 

Either way, it didn’t change the fact that he felt sick to his stomach.

Perhaps it was guilt, although Akihiko knew he had nothing to feel guilty about. It was the idiots fault, speeding on the wrong side of the road, but that idiot probably had a family.  
Maybe his wife and child were at home, waiting for him.

Peering down at his hands which were still latched onto the steering wheel, he realised that they were shaking. 

It was at this point that the author realised that he would do absolutely anything for a cigarette.

Nothing could have prepared them for the chaos that would arise; the deafening sirens, the commotion of the diligent crew- then there was the chattering of inquisitive witnesses and passer-by’s that were gathered at the roadside.

The Usami only hoped that no one recognised him. The last thing he needed was for the incident to get picked up by the local tabloids. The delay of his latest manuscript already had Aikawa barley resisting the urge to batter him. She’d joked before about putting him in the hospital, insisting that it was the only way she’d ever get him to make his deadline on time.

He wondered if after today she would still find that joke so funny.

Not even the fire brigades noisy hydraulic rescue tools could conceal the heart wrenching sound of Kamijou’s agonised cries.

It was the longest ten minutes of Akihiko’s life.

Hiroki should have felt relieved that he was getting closer and closer to being freed from the ruined car, which as time passed by was beginning to feel more and more like a coffin.  
The sound of groaning metal as the fire brigade began to work on the passenger side door did little to soothe him.

He was unable to restrain a pained gasp when suddenly the metal shifted against his torso, jostling his broken ribs- 

“Stop!”

The medic’s voice was loud and clear, even beyond the growl of the saw. She was quickly at his side, leaning through the empty window pane and seemingly unconcerned about the jagged fragments of glass.

The woman- he couldn’t remember her name, was wielding a long needle, addressing him in a soothing voice as she promised him another dose of pain relief.  
Her words of encouragement were soon lost on the assistant professor, who wasn’t really listening.

Hiroki closed his eyes even tighter when the injection pierced his skin. He wondered if Nowaki’s young patients had a better tolerance for needles than him. He could imagine the friendly paediatrician smiling encouragingly, accompanied by an armoury of cheerful looking band-aids and brightly coloured lollipops to reward all of the brave children.

He soon realised that if he survived the ordeal, there was no way in hell that Kusama would stop doting on him.

He was a hundred per cent certain that nursing him back to health was probably one of the pervert’s biggest fantasies.

“Hiro-san, I need to take your temperature!”

“It’s time to change your dressings-”

“Time for your bed bath Hiro-san!”

Hiroki’s stomach began to churn, the nausea returning as the fireman resumed their deafening sawing.

He decided that maybe it would be worth it to see Nowaki parading around the house in his doctor’s uniform, with a stethoscope draped around his neck. With the towering giant always changing at work, his hazel eyes never really did get to appreciate it.

In other news, Hiroki realised in his drug induced haze that he was beginning to feel increasingly numb. His insides still felt as though they were attempting to turn inside out, but the morphine made him feel…

Made him feel….

Disconnected.

His cell began vibrating again in the foot-well, followed by the distinct sound of his bland ringtone.

“Someone really wants your attention this morning,” Akihiko commented flatly, an unhealthy pallor tinting his skin. The author felt suspiciously warm, but he quickly dismissed his thoughts, too busy itching for a cigarette.

“Not…surprised,” the professor drawled, “I… I’m late… for w-work.”

He paused momentarily, struggling to form a coherent thought before adding, “What… Where were you going a-anyway? Don’t you h-have a deadline…. Or s-something?”

“Picking up my flatmate,” the Usami replied simply.

Flatmate.

The word felt foreign on his tongue.

‘Flatmate,’ Hiroki thought, and if he’d possessed enough energy, he would have rolled his eyes. ‘You must think that I was born yesterday.’

“This b-better not end up in one of your sh-shitty novels.”

“As if I would do such a thing.”

“W-wouldn’t p-put anything past you.”

“Come on Hiroki,” the author replied, “don’t be like that. I’ll even give you a signed copy. There are readers out there who would give blood to get hold of one of those.”

“Go ahead… S-see what happens… I’ll just… use it as toilet p-paper…..”

Little did Akihiko know, Hiroki owned every single one of the authors published works. It was an impressive collection that rivalled even Usami’s most hard-core fans.

It had started back at university.

Akihiko was at the beginning of what would later become a successful career. Somehow he still managed to stay on top of his studies as well as release some pretty decent books. 

Even when Hiroki had been at his wits end trying to finish his thesis, the cheeky bastard had still knocked on his door, thrusting a battered looking manuscript in his face. Exhausted, agitated and bleary eyed, the brunette should have turned him away.

In the end, being the avid reader that he was, Kamijou just couldn’t help himself.

He was a sucker for a good story, and his infatuation with the man hadn’t helped.

He just couldn’t say no. 

Even to this day his childhood friend had no shame in taking advantage of his weakness. Sometimes it seemed that Akihiko knew no bounds. He even had to cheek to pester him while he was at work.

‘How many times do I have to tell you not to bother me while I’m at work! Some of us have real jobs to go to!’

In the beginning he’d started collecting three volumes of each book, but eventually he’d pondered, why stop at three?

Hiroki had every addition of Usami Akihiko’s works, as well as those published under various pen names. Hardback, paperback, limited editions, compilations, different dust jackets- he had them all.

The problem was it seemed that his ever expanding book collection was starting to dominate the entire apartment. Like a bad day at the office there were reading materials perched on most available services. Even a novel or two had found their way into the bathroom. But Nowaki, bless his heart, hadn’t complained; not even when the excessive weight had inevitably caused one of the bookcases to collapse.

//////////

Kamijou scowled in frustration as he peered up at the top shelf, standing on the very tips of his toes and stretching as far as he could manage.

Even with the aid of his trusty stepping stool, still to no avail, he just couldn’t reach.

‘One more try,’ he thought stubbornly, the heavy hardback grasped firmly in hand as he stretched-

Suddenly out of nowhere, a pair of long arms ensnared him by the waist, and Hiroki was unable to supress an undignified yelp.

“Having some trouble Hiro-san?”

“What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“You looked like you needed some help,” Kusama replied, squeezing the brunette even tighter, “so I thought I would come to your rescue.”

“Do I look like some helpless princess to you?”

“You’re undeniably gorgeous Hiro-san, but definitely not a princess. I’ve seen proof that would suggest otherwise-” 

The paediatrician earned himself a smack to the shin with the sharp edge of the book.

“Cheeky brat.”

The professor was unable to supress the wave of embarrassment that swept over him. A flush of red dusted his cheeks and he couldn’t help but feel mortified as he realised that he was burning up like a furnace.

“We’re not all freakishly tall like you,” Hiroki said, endearingly flustered. “Now are you going to help me or just stand there all day you big oaf?”

With one arm around his partner’s waist, Nowaki took the book in his other large hand and reached up to the top shelf, slipping it back into the empty space effortlessly. He glanced back at the professor, who turned away, still reeling with embarrassment.

Kusama couldn’t help but smile.

When the bookcase began to groan ominously, Hiroki had a bad feeling that this wasn’t going to end well.

Had it not been for Nowaki’s quick intervention, he would have likely taken a hard tumble from his stool and ended up sandwiched between a mountainous book pile and the hard laminate floor. Instead, a long pair of arms grappled him by the waist as the case crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, a loud crash resounding throughout the entire apartment.

Somewhere amidst the chaos the couple had ended up in a tangle heap on the floor, where the professor attempted to pry himself free of Kusama’s impossibly long limbs.

“Are you ok Hiro-san?”

Taking a mournful glance at his beloved literature collection, Hiroki could have sworn that somewhere deep inside his chest, he felt his heat break.

“Don’t waste your concern on me,” he replied, crawling over to the edge of the book pile. He picked up a battered looking paperback from the floor, clutching a hand in his hair in despair. “Do you know how long it will take me to put these back in order?!”

“This is the second time I’ve saved you from a book avalanche,” the raven recalled, a look of reminiscence on his face. “When we first met. Do you remember?”

“How could I forget? It was the day you broke into my apartment you creep. I should have gotten a restraining order.”

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine, idiot, which is the least I can say for you! What the hell were you thinking throwing yourself across the room like that?”

Nowaki merely beamed in response, and the professor added, “What the hell are you grinning at?”

“You’re worried about me,” the doctor replied, and Kamijou could practically see the hearts in his eyes. “I always knew that you cared,” he cooed, clinging to the professor infatuatedly.

“Of course I worry,” Hiroki said, wreathing against Nowaki’s grasp in a desperate bid to escape. ”If you hurt yourself how am I supposed to take you to the hospital? You’re so heavy we wouldn’t even make it past the hallway.”

“I’m not that heavy Hiro-san,” the raven protested.

“Yes you are you big lug. Stop growing already!”

“It’s not my fault you’re so small-”

Smack.

Nowaki ducked just in time to avoid a book to the head, the novel hitting the wall behind him and falling to the ground with a thud.

“I was just teasing!”

“Like hell you were you jerk!”

Smack.

“You’re making a bigger mess-”

“I don’t care.”

Smack.

“Hiro-san!”

/////////////

Akihiko was close to drifting off when suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, rousing him awake.

“Sir, I need you to open your eyes for me.”

Turning towards the source of the voice he regretted his decision instantly, wincing as his head began to throb, spin and ache all at the same time.

It was like the nightmare hangover from the Kikukawa Awards ceremony all over again, but with the absence of any alcohol. 

Akihiko wasn’t a great fan of drinking, although he enjoyed a glass of wine on occasion. That night at the awards ceremony his usual self-restraint had gone out of the window. Even to this day he couldn’t remember why he’d had so much to drink. All he did know was that after being shoved into the back of a car by an irritated Isaka, he’d woken up the next day on the sofa in his condo with a blanket over his shoulders, feeling like he’d been flattened by a steam roller.

He later learned that Misaki had wanted to put him to bed, but after judging the authors intoxicated state had wisely decided firmly against trying to haul him up the stairs.

The paramedic was leaning in where the driver side window used to be, attempting to shine a light into his violet pupils. The Usami resisted the urge to screw his eyes shut in protest as the light aggravated his aching head even further.

Opening his eyes he was surprisingly relieved to discover that the roof was now gone, leaving him feeling weirdly exposed in what remained of his vehicle. 

He hadn’t even realised that the incessant sawing noise had ceased. 

“I always wanted a convertible,” he said dryly, the joke falling flat as soon as it left his lips.

“It was… ugly… anyway,” Hiroki managed, an unpleasant crackling in his chest.

“Well you didn’t do it any favours by putting your head through the windscreen.”

“I made… an… improvement-”

Kamijou tried to take a breath but his useless lungs refused to cooperate, jarring painfully in his chest. 

Not enough air.

He could feel his heart hammering vigorously against his sore ribs, brown eyes growing wide in panic.

“Hiroki?” 

Apparently Akihiko could sense his distress. The paramedic was trying to coax him into a neck brace, but he was having none of it. Instead he tried to batt the man’s prying hands away, gazing at his companion with concern despite the unbearable pounding echoing in his skull.

Can’t breathe.

Gazing into the authors eyes, he wondered if it would be the last thing that he’d ever see.

Hiroki knew that he was drifting. 

The darkness beckoned him and he was powerless to stop it. He felt it pull him from the clutches of consciousness, devouring his senses one by one.

Light… 

Sound… 

Feeling…

As he began to fade, there was only one thing on his mind.

Nowaki.

//////////////

Nearing the end of his long twelve hour shift, Tsumori wanted nothing more than to collapse on the nearest empty bed and cocoon himself in the fresh white sheets.

For starters the chance of finding a free bed in the entire hospital would be a fine thing.

As he walked through the long corridor of A&E, even the hard chairs in the reception area seemed inviting. Maybe if he pushed them together and swiped a fresh sheet from the laundry room he could nap in peace for at least five minutes…

If people saw he wearied face, perhaps they would take pity on him.

Tsumori loved his job, but he was beginning to forget what his own apartment looked like. There were only so many double shifts he could take before he couldn’t remember his own address.  
He glanced at his watch, trying hard not to notice how the clock hands seemed to move agonisingly slow.

Tick…. Tick…. Tick…

Just one more hour to go-

The blonde was almost knocked off his feet by the gurney that wheeled past, and as he took a curious glance at the patient, he almost tripped in surprise.

Despite the bag valve mask obscuring most of his face, there was no mistaking the identity of the injured figure sprawled lifelessly across the gurney.

It was Kamijou.

Judging by some of the terms being thrown around by the staff on call such as ‘vehicle collision’ and ‘tension pneumothorax’, Tsumori knew that whatever Nowaki’s lover had gotten himself into, it certainly didn’t look good.

The blonde made a speedy bid for the Paediatric ward, heading straight for the doctors locker room. 

He fumbled clumsily with his locker key, cursing the hospitals no cell phone regulations.

When he eventually dialled the number, he was surprised when Kusama answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Kusama! it’s me-“

“Senpai?”

“I know you’re not on call, but this is important.”

“Is it a patient?”

“No-”

“Sorry Senpai but you’ve caught me at a bad time. I can’t speak right now-”

“Listen-”

“I really have to go-”

“Nowaki! Don’t hang up!!”

“Senpai?”

“It’s… Kamijou.”


End file.
